It May Take A Battleground
by EpikalStorms
Summary: What if Percy Jackson wasn't like everyone thought he was? What if, because of this, and due to betrayal and hurt, things proceeded differently? What if Percy Jackson changed, and turned into someone else? Our favorite hero, Percy, decided he wants to disappear. With Chaos's help, will he succeed? (This a Chaos story. AU, some Annabeth bashing. Rated for language)
1. Prologue

_**.:**__**It May Take A Battleground**__**:.**_

_I thought I'd finally found somewhere,_

_where I was needed, but_

_I was left alone, again._

_I thought I was where I was suppose to be—_

_and maybe I was, but_

_I didn't think it was suppose to end like this._

_Were heroes not suppose to have a happy ending?_

_Was I a hero?_

_What did a hero do, that I didn't?_

_I was alone, again, now._

_They left me, turned on me—_

_just like everyone else._

_Where could I go?_

_I thought I'd finally found somewhere, _

_that I was wanted, but, _

_apparently, I wasn't._

_Maybe no one wanted me._

_Maybe I wasn't supposed to be there at all._

_I was unwanted?_

_They hated me, for some reason—_

_and I just don't understand anything,_

_anymore._

_Maybe I was supposed to leave, though._

_I'd done what they wanted, what was asked of me, _

_what felt right, what needed to be done._

_Now..._

_I thought I'd finally found somewhere,_

_that I belonged, but—_

_maybe, perhaps, I don't belong anywhere._

_**. . .**_

I was five when a demon stole my mother's face.

It wasn't quick—it was more of a gradual process, I suppose, but it happened. And I saw it.

My mother was the most wonderful person in the world. She cared for me, took care of me, loved me. She worked at a candy shop, and always—always—brought me home a bag of samples on the weekends that we could share together. They were always blue, my favorite color. When she cooked my dinner, she made it a habit of making at least one dish blue at all times. When she placed the food in front of me, she always gave me a small, gentle smile and said I'd get a bedtime story as long as I finished my vegetables. I didn't mind—the vegetables didn't taste as bad as the other kids were convinced they were, and my mom was just looking out for me, keeping me healthy. That gave me a warm feeling in my chest—she always cared. When I first started school, she'd always make time in the afternoons—even when she was busy—to help me with y homework, and teach me some extra things. Those at-home lessons aided me in moving ahead of the other children, much to their envy, but I didn't really care all that much about my grades—I only sought to do well since it would please her, and make her happy. When I was scared, or hurt, she always made me feel better. She always gave me those small smiles full of love. When I did something from, she never snapped at me—she only gave me a disappointed look, took me by the hands, looked me in the eyes and told me what I did wrong—then she told me to try my best not to do it again, and that it made her very sad. I always listened, since I never wanted to see that disappointed gaze again—it didn't suit my mother, she was suppose to be happy and full of love.

But then, When I was halfway through preschool, it happened. My mother was walking me home from school, when I noticed this odd little yellow car that was driving differently from the others—in this strange, zig-zagged, speeding drive that my mother said was way too fast and dangerous on the busy roads like these. I tugged on my mother's shirt and she stopped, looking down at me. I pointed the car out, and saw that it was now headed toward us. She looked up, and her pretty blue eyes widened, and she pushed me out of the way very roughly before the yellow car speed by, taking her, too.

I was very scared then. Strangers were crowding around me, patting me, and ruffling me hair, and women gave me tight hugs that kind of hurt, and I couldn't see my mother anywhere.

Then a police man came and took me with him, and somehow I ended up in the hospital where a young, bald, black-skinned doctor was kneeling in front of me with a pitying look on his face, telling me in a serious tone that my mother was alright, but she would be there for a few weeks to get better, and then I'd have her back.

I waited and waited and waited those few weeks, but I never got my mother back.

I only got her body, and something else. Something much, much scarier than anything I'd ever encountered, even the snake that my preschool teacher had put in my blankets at nap time.

There was a demon in my mother. A monster, something very mean that only wanted to hurt me—Actually, I never knew just what it wanted, but it didn't treat me like my mother had. I got no love, no overflowing care. Sure, that demon had taken care of me, masquerading as my mother, stealing her face and her looks, but it only fed me, paid for what I needed—like school—and that was it. I didn't get any more candy on the weekends, or bedtime stories, or gentle smiles—I never really liked to eat vegetables again, for some reason. This demon didn't care about me. It treated me rough—hitting me, ignoring me when I was in pain, or scared. I put up with it, of course—where else was I suppose to go? So it went on for years, and soon, I kind of got used to it, bit by bit—used to feeling utterly _alone_ in the world. I went through school with high marks—or I would have, if I'd been able to do my homework. But that demon sort of...prevented me, in ways. So I was, on paper, more of a D-C average student. Soon, though, I turned eleven, and everything sort of...changed.

It was on a field trip to a museum, being harassed by a girl I'd never thought to learn the name of. She was just like all the rest of the bullies. I tended to ignore them, which was never hard, considering the torment from the demon that resided with me in my home. A few months before, a new student named Grover Underwood had entered the school, and he took to following me around for some reason. He had some sort of leg disorder that exempted him from Physical Education, and a strange love for enchiladas. Eventually, he thought it safe enough to dub himself my best friend—and I never corrected him. I'd never had any friends before, truthfully, and I wanted to see how it was. I don't think I fully understood it, but... Even so, I still felt all alone.

Anyway, one of my teachers, Mr. Brunner, was lecturing us about some sort of Greek monument. Mr. Brunner was a nice man, I suppose. He cared about the students he taught—he was patient, kind, and observing. He seemed to pay extra attention to me—he tried to keep it under wraps, but I had a pretty good trained eye. I also noticed he and Grover were accomplices in _something_, but I didn't know what. Afterward, we were led outside for a lunch break, and that girl, the bully, decided to get up close and personal. I ignored her as usual, not even casting her a mere glance, but something happened, water splashed, and I was dragged into the museum by my algebra teacher, Mrs. Dodds. And it was then, that I encountered a new kind of demon. Not like my demon—the one who's stolen my mother's face, I mean. But a monster—a monster I could kill. Or hurt, since it turned to dust as soon as I swiped at it with the pen(that could turn into a blade, mind you) that Mr. Brunner had thrown at me. He'd arrived with Grover in tow, just shortly after Mrs. Dodds had transformed into that... _monster_.

And then, they both had pretended nothing had even happened, and I got a new Algebra teacher, Mrs. Kunneth.

Of course I was confused, but I didn't say anything once I found out that no one else remembered Mrs. Dodds at all. Save for Grover. He was a terrible liar, really. And I knew Mr. Brunner knew something, but he was a much, _much_ better actor.

Finally, one night, during the week of final exams, I overheard Grover and Mr. Brunner discussing what they kept a secret. It confused me greatly, and I knew there was _some_ sort of creature that might or might not have been Mr. Brunner, but I was forced to leave when the door opened. When I returned to the dorms some minutes later, I found Grover half asleep on the bed, a book open in front of him. Or, he was trying to appear so. He complained to me what a bore studying was, attempting to be convincing, but I only ignored him and climbed in bed, vaguely missing the way my mother would tuck me in every night—but I shook the feeling off. I'd gotten used to having the demon around. But I still wished I had my mother. Somehow, I knew she wasn't there anymore. I don't think she's anywhere, anymore. She's completely gone. That demon did something to her, and now, I do not have a mother.

My mother was gone, but she didn't _go_ anywhere at all.

A week later, and it was summer break. I was on the bus back to Manhatten, back to the demon. Grover was there too, but I somehow knew that he didn't live in the city, so I wasn't sure why he was coming with me. The bus broke down, and we had to go out, and I looked to the side of the road to see three _very _old looking women, knitting the largest pair of socks I'd ever seen. The caught my eye—though I don't know how. Their own eyes seemed... pupil-less—and held up two, gold-looking threads. Slowly, as if making sure I was still watching, they took out a large pair of scissors and carefully snipped the threads in half. I was mute, watching as the glittering threads fluttered to the ground—although I was unsure how I was able to see them from all the way across the street—when Grover gripped my arm so tight it was almost throbbing, and I looked up to see him staring at the women in horror. I looked back on last time before Grover roughly began to drag me back on the bus, which was started again, and saw that the three old women all had neutral looks upon their faces.

Once we got back on the bus, Grover demanded to know if I had seen the elderly women do anything. I looked at him, unimpressed, and said to him, rather flatly, that, yes, I'd seen them snip some thread—but I never told him how many.

Grover had paled, and we were both completely silent for the rest of the ride, though I could tell Grover was trying to conceal some very large panic attacks on the inside—he wasn't doing too well of a job, to me at least.

I, shamelessly, ditched Grover at the next stop, when he'd ran to the bathrooms because, frankly, he was beginning to freak me out—and that was hard to do, I knew. You tended to grow a bit hard to surprise when you'd been raised by a vicious demon, however indirectly. Though—I _was_ surprised about a week later, when another type of those new _monsters_ chased me(and Grover, who'd I'd discovered to be stalking me—which was a bit too creepy in my opinion) to the borders of a strawberry ranch. I really don't know how we got so far out of the city, but you tended to miss things when you were being chased by a modern Minotaur—who'd only been a beast-man, and was almost ridiculously easy to defeat, since is rather sharp horns were very brittle. All I'd needed to do was get close enough to break one horn off, then drive it through the monster's heart. Easy. Dealing with a demon stealing your mother's body wasn't too different, right? If not, it was much harder than this, to me.

I dragged the unconscious Grover, who was bleating—_bleating—_for food, over to the farmhouse. Along the chase, I'd discovered he was a satyr. Of course. The farmhouse was actually a rather large white mansion, along the way there, I'd spotted many shadowy shapes that hadn't been there before, when I'd been outside the borders. The shapes became clearer when I focused on them, and I soon decided that the ranch must be, in fact, some sort of camp.

When I climbed, slowly, up the porch to the front door, I only had time to knock when the weariness from the long, long run over had consumed me, and I fell unconscious—not for the first time in my life, really. It wasn't that big of a deal to me. I pitied the camp director, or whoever ran that place, however. Discovering two unconscious teens—one human, and one satyr—probably wasn't the norm.

But, as I learned when I woke up the next day, it apparently was. That is when I learned of Camp Half-Blood. Mr. Brunner—who turned out to be a centaur named Chiron(yes, _the _Chiron)explained to me that I was a demi-god, and he went on to tel me about what that meant. I learned that, yes, all that I'd killed were monsters—and that the night before, I'd killed _the _minotaur of legend, something that every demi-god hoped to do. I decided not to mention how easy a task it had been.

Annabeth, the girl who I'd met when I had woken up, gave me a tour of the camp, and I'd stayed there for a few days before I was claimed in a game of Capture the Flag by the god called Poseidon. The next day, I was sent on a quest with Grover, and Annabeth, to search for the king of the gods, Zues's, missing weapon of power, the Master Bolt, to clear my apparently guilty name of thief.

Turns out, the god Ares stole it. His fault, not mine, or my father's, or even Hades's. Ares.

The following years passed in a similar fashion. I'd go to camp in the summer, get a problem that needed taking care of, go on a quest, then come back as a supposed hero or something similar. One year was a bit difficult, however, since my new friend Thalia, daughter of Zeus, and Annabeth and I needed a ride to a school that Grover was having problems at, in the winter. I decided to just get it over with and asked my demon, who begrudgingly agreed to drive us. On the way there, I was shocked to the core(though I hid it well) as my demon—who'd stolen my mother's body, mind you—acted as if it _was_ my mother. I'd almost cried. It had been as if I'd had my mother back. She was so _close_... but, she was gone. And not anywhere. I didn't have a mother anymore, I had to remind myself that.

We arrived soon after, and I entered the school with my...friends. Thalia commented on how "awesome my mom was." I agreed with her. My mother had been downright amazing. However past-tense it was. I felt a bit put out that my friends would never actually meet her.

It was about two years later when I was about to turn sixteen, that I'd gone against the titan lord Kronos, who was the supposed master of time. And I won... I'd gone back to the camp happy, since my demon was finally _gone—_it had been killed in the havoc of New York, though I felt saddened by the fact that my mother's body was destroyed as well. At least, I only hoped the demon was taken with it. It was almost a year later, and things had been going alright. I was dating Annabeth, Grover was a Lord of the Wild, appointed by Pan himself. Thalia was off somewhere with the Hunters of Artemis, doing whatever the Hunters of Artemis did. It was good... but that's when they left me, and I was alone again. Annabeth cheated on me, for some reason I never understood—I thought she was happy, but apparently not. Grover seemed to get caught up in his duties as a lord—perhaps the power had gone to his head... My friends Nico began to resent me for his sister's death—even though I'd thought we'd both gotten over that—once Bianca had chosen to become a reborn soul. I don't think Thalia changed at all, but I never saw her at all, so I wouldn't have known. Chiron tended to ignore me now that he thought he'd taught me all he could. Gradually, the rest of my supposed friends turned away from me.

I shouldn't have minded, really—after all, I was used to being alone, utterly alone. But when they _left_ me, I felt like I had been stabbed in the heart. I realized, then, that I had let those people heal me, and make me feel cared for again, and loved again—something I hadn't felt since my demon had stolen my mother from me. I'd allowed these people to take that feeling of nothingness, uneasiness, away. They made me feel... not _alone_, anymore.

And then they'd left me.

So I left them. I ran away from the camp in the middle of the night, easily escaping the harpy patrol's notice. I didn't take anything with me—the little possessions I'd gathered over the years would have only brought back memories of _not-aloneness_. I traveled to the west of the country, taking down the _monsters_ that got in my way. Whenever I crossed paths with a demi-god that was unaware of their heritage and the dangers that came with it, I'd always save them if they were being attacked, then explain things to them, give them some drachmas and provisions enough for the journey towards camp, then told them to _forget _me, and left them, choosing to forget them myself.

About two years later, I learned of Camp Jupiter, and the god's Roman sides. I met the Roman demi-gods, and they were ruthless. I'd decided long before not to let anyone try to heal me again, since the Greek's betrayal. The particular uncaring attitude of the Roman's helped my decision, it seemed. I spent a year at their camp, as a son of Neptune, rising in the ranks and learning how to make sense between a Roman demi-god and a Greek demi-gos—even if the Romans didn't seem to know that the Greeks existed—just as the Greeks were unaware of the Romans—so I decided to keep them both in their ignorance, and didn't tel them a thing. During that year, I'd seemed to make...allies—not friends. I didn't make friends, even if these 'allies' seemed to consider themselves my 'friend'—and the Romans had appeared to have taken a liking to me. I didn't let the notion get to me head like that last time. When Reyna and Jason came to me, telling me that Jason was thinking of stepping down from the position of praetor, and that they wanted me to take the position, I told them that I'd think on it, then left in the dead of the night. I'd learned all I'd wanted from the Romans.

I spent the time up until I was twenty traveling the country again, doing the same that I'd been doing before coming upon Camp Jupiter—except, this time I sent the Roman demi-gods and Greek demi-gods both to their respective camps, taking time to judge which pantheon they belonged to, then explained their heritage and dangers that came with said heritage accordingly. As I had the last time, I always told them to _forget _me, but never what I told them. What I'd taught them. I always spent at least one day traveling with each of them, helping them and guiding the so that they could take care of themselves. Then I disappeared. And I never saw each of them again. Well, Percy Jackson didn't.

I died when I was twenty-six, after being impaled on the spear of a snake-woman while aiding a Roman half-blood.

The demi-god had been killed three minutes before—we'd been ambushed by a ridiculously large platoon of _drachne_. My body disintegrated about thirty seconds after my soul had disconnected from it due to some type of fast-acting poison the spear had been dipped in.

This is where I stand now, on a cliff ledge over looking the river Lethe. No one was aware of my death. The demi-god that had been with me was dead. Hades had no clue that I was in the Underworld, since I had yet to pass through the lines of Judgment. No one knew, and I wanted it to stay that way. I gazed down at the famed River of Forgetfulness. If I jumped now, I could.. disappear. Percy Jackson would cease to exist. I wanted to be _gone—_not there anymore, but not anywhere else either, just like Sally Jackson. Just like my mother.

I only wished that they was someone to help the demi-gods like I had been. I started to lean forward, feet almost clearing the ledge when a hand landed on my shoulder, tethering my to the ground.

It turned, and stared silently. This individual was very different from what I had ever encountered—but I was always encountering different things, so I decided not to be surprised. After all, even if I had learned some shocking things, I knew that what I'd seen couldn't be all of what was out there.

The man—he wasn't a soul, I somehow knew—was like a living shadow that stood as I did, his body made of complete and utter _blackness_. Except...not. I looked closer, and saw the galaxy. Stars rolled of and on his flesh, and I swore I saw a planet or two on there, in the vague distance. His eyes were living twin suns, that must have been reflecting the hottest suns in existence—they were completely blue molten flames. I knew his body only mirrored what he was—as I _knew_, somehow, for some _reason_, that he was the galaxy, the Universe, the _Void_—since I felt no heat radiate off of him save for a just above-average human body temperature. The man gave me a warm grin—mouth and teeth a dulled shade of black, and tongue a dark gray.

"You are Chaos." I said, rather bluntly. Don't ask me how I knew. I didn't understand it myself. But, really, who else could he be? "The beginning. Creator of the Universe."

Chaos nodded, still giving me that warm smile that reminded me so unnervingly of my mother. "Right you are, Percy Jackson."

I shifted uncomfortably, both from the caring smile and his words. I didn't like the familiarity of my mother in this being, and I didn't want to be this _Percy Jackson_ anymore.

Chaos's smile grew sad, and his hand tightened on his shoulder. "I understand why you want this, child, but I came here to make a deal with you."

I tilted my head. "A deal?"

He nodded again. "Yes, a deal." He led me a ways away from the ledge, but I promised myself I'd be standing there again soon. Chaos sent me a knowing look. We sat down on the black, cold gravel. He turned to me again. "I've watched you live your life, Child. I've seen all the hardships you've gone through. I've watched you heal, only to be broken again, and I want to take you in."

I blinked. "Take me...in?"

Chaos gave me the same, small, gentle smile that my mother had always given me when she told me to eat all of my dinner. The one that said "I care very much for you." "I don't want you to hurt anymore, but I can't make any promises."

I sent a longing glance toward the River Lethe, and Chaos turned his head and looked too. He looked back at me and nodded knowingly. "Yes. You don't have to be this Percy Jackson anymore, if you don't wish to. If you agree to come with me, so that I can make you strong after you become someone else, you can go into that river and forget, you can come out, back to me as someone else, and Percy Jackson will... be gone, but not anywhere, isn't that how you put it? Yes, he will be gone, just like his mother. Isn't that what you want?" I nodded. "Then, after I get you—or, you'll be someone else, so; after I get _them_, we can leave here, Hades will be none the wiser." I looked toward Hades's palace, which was off in the distance.

"So..." He peered at me, then spread out his hands. "What about it?"

I sat back, quiet for a long time. This was a pretty great deal, actually. If I did this, I could ensure that my new life would have _something_. I could make certain that the person that I would be, the person that would come after Percy Jackson was erased from existence, had at least a place to got, if not a life to live. I looked at Chaos again, who was observing me silently. I sent him a barely noticeable nod. "Yes."

He beamed at me, flashing, somehow, those obsidian-like teeth. "This is great news!" He exclaimed, then sent me a look. "Who will you be when you come back?" He wondered. "do you have a preferred name, or shall I come up with one?"

If I named who I'd become, then something left of Percy Jackson would still be with me, forever, into my new life. I shook my head, and the Creator nodded understandingly. "Alright then." He nodded toward the river. "Off you go. Goodbye forever, Perseus Jackson."

I was back on the ledge now. This time, when I leaned forward, my feet did leave the ledge, and I was plunged into ice-cold waters. That, the utterly freezing depths of the River of Forgetfulness, was the last thing I, Percy Jackson, ever knew.

…

Chaos stood up from the cold, black gravel that covered the entirety of the Underworlds ground. He looked toward the River where that young soul had disappeared not three minutes before. Lifting a hand, he poured some of his own power into the river, just for a minutes, and then dropped the appendage, waiting. Soon, instead of the blank slate that usual emerged from the River Lethe after a soul bathes in it, the soul of a young boy with obsidian hair, as dark as his Void, and two eyes as blue as the crystal depths of the cleanest sea stumbled out and looked around, confused. This was part of his deal with that soul he'd talked to not minutes before. Usually, when I soul emerged from the River Lethe, as he and Lord Hades both knew, that soul would then transform into a small, marble-sized star-like object, fly through the roof of the Underworld, then go somewhere into the world above and implant itself into the womb of a expecting human mother. Chaos couldn't let that happen, since he'd been made a deal.

The young soul looked around, a rather adorable pout on it's lips. Chaos strode over to to and placed a hand on it's shoulder. "Hello." He said, and the soul jumped. Blue eyes looked up at him, surprised. "Wh-who are you?" The child asked him, curious, but not frightened.

Chaos smiled. "I am Chaos. The creator of the Universe." He looked down at the soul, then sent a charge of some of his own power into it. The soul jumped back a bit, surprised at the slight shock and Chaos smiled as it, the child, became as solid as himself. This child would need no body. And now, he'd be immortal—almost as he himself was, but not quite so. He'd explain it to the small boy—who only looked to be about four, later on, after he took him to his home as he'd promised.

"...And me?" The child tilted his head, a small frown on his features. Chaos smiled warmly at him, a small gentle smile that a parent would give their child. "You—you are my son," It was true in a way. After all this child had no mother, he had not been born from a womb, and Chaos's own powers had made him solid, existing. "My son, Zavier Cailan Nadir."

_**end of prologue**_

**Yes. This is a Chaos story. I just wanted to see what if would be like if I wrote one. Just testing to waters for now. I feel terrible for making a new story instead of updating my existing ones, but you writers know how it is. Maybe. My imagination just ****_will not_**** leave me be, and my fingers kinda-sorta-maybe typed this thing up on their own.**

**Anyway.. Jyup. That's all. I've got nothing else to say, really.**


	2. Chapter One

_He still felt it._

_All alone, even though he had everything he could ever ask for, he felt that same, familiar alone-ness that plagued his dreams._

Zavier had been living with his mentor, master, and father for a couple of centuries now, and he really couldn't be more cared-for than he was when Chaos was with him. The creator of the universe had always tried to get him to call him father, but Zavier had always refused, for some reason. It just always felt right, to call Chaos "Master."

He could still remember everything so clearly. His very first memories was of a icy cold sensation, and the organ-freezing, crashing waves of the river of Forgetfulness. Chaos didn't really mind that he knew—he'd always told Zavier that he'd been somebody, before he was who he was now. But his master never, ever told him who that somebody was. And Zavier was okay with that—somehow, it felt right. It felt like that somebody who he had been should stay buried forever, and it was okay.

But, perhaps, that somebody he'd been was where this feeling, of complete and utter loneliness, came from. Alone, completely, utterly, alone—yet he was surrounded with love from his father, creator, and master. Chaos. Yet that feeling, that alone-ness, stayed. And it was this feeling that made Zavier who he was now.

Five centuries, and now, he was physically fourteen years old. He had no idea what the age of his soul was, however. Chaos wouldn't tell him that, either.

When he'd climbed out of that so-cold river of nothing but icy water and lost memories, Chaos had been right there. His master had solidified him, given him a body that would never be tainted and would never be affected by natural casualties, such as death—because it wasn't a body at all. And that made all the difference. Chaos had taken him in, to his home, _Vincitore Annullare_. He'd never been allowed to leave the Palace before, and he didn't have any friends or relationships with anyone but Chaos yet—he'd spent the past centuries he'd existed polishing his training and skills given to him by his master to perfections, and mastering his emotions. That would change, now, though. Chaos was going to show him his army, and his Council of Lieutenants. And he was to be the Commander—but that position would be given to him in a few centuries more. Right now, he was just going to meet them.

Zavier had mastered his emotions in under two centuries, and had had three hundred years to perfect that art. For some reason, he'd seen Chaos looking slightly down whenever the Creator couldn't get any reaction out of him—Zavier was as emotionless as a cold, stone statue without a face. It helped that he kept his face hidden, he supposed. Chaos had spent about three decades trying to teach Zavier Latin, which was one of his base languages, but Zavier had insisted on master Japanese before anything else—he'd grown a liking for it, and switched into ti on accident when he was speaking at time, which wasn't very often, in fact. Now, he was fluent in every language of the Universe—well, he still had two or three that he was still a bit shaky in, but those were some of the old, almost forgotten ones.

Zavier's favorite color was black. It was the color of the Void, his home, his safe-place, and his master. He wore a pitch black cloak that was clasped around his shoulders with a clasp styled in a crescent moon that curved around a single star—the logo of Chaos's Army. The cloak's hood was always pulled over his head, shadowing the top half of his face. Under the cloak, he wore form fitting black cargo pants that were made out of an unnamed material that had the feel of denim, but was stronger than titanium. He wore a black vest made out of what might have been mistaken for Kevlar if it wasn't tougher than steel, over a white turtleneck. Black gloved made out of the same material as his vest covered his hands, wrists, and forearms up to his elbows. On his feet, he wore plain, black boots with steel toes.

Over the years, his physical appearance had changed due to the influxes of power he'd been training. His eyes were still that electrical blue, yet they were like Chaos's own—mini galaxies, and he had neither pupils or an iris when he was using his abilities. When he wasn't doing anything, there was a silver rings that serves as his iris, yet still no pupils. Instead of black expanses of space, his eyes were completely blue, with fields of stars. As for Zavier's skin, it was a light cocoa, slightly ashen. He had a black, tattoo like mark on his neck, of the same sign that was on his cloak's clasp—marking him as Chaos's own.

He stuck like glue to his creator's side, fingers clenching Chaos's own cloak as they both vanished from sight, only to reappear in the Council's war chamber. Zavier had in his master's shadow, trying his best not to be seen—he could have sworn he caught Chaos rolling his eyes, but no one could be too sure.

Chaos clapped his hands together. Everyone in the room—which included all eleven Lieutenants, their seconds, and a few workers and soldiers(altogether, a group of about thirty or so)—turned their immediate attention to their him. Zavier shrank back even more. He was certain most of them couldn't see him—his senses told him so.

"Greetings, my children." Chaos smiled. They all smiled back at him in greeting. Everyone in the army was of exceptional skill, and immortal—a gift from Chaos. They all were under the age of twenty five in physical appearance.

"Good morning, Lord Chaos." The eleven Lieutenants bowed deeply, and the others followed their example.

"I have brought someone here to meet you." Chaos went on, and everyone looked to him with interest. "He is very important and powerful. The second most powerful being in the Universe, in fact." They all brightened, eyes widening. "But you must treat him with care," The Creator winked at them. "Has been training with me for the past five centuries, and has had absolutely no contact whatsoever with anyone but me in that time."

"What's his name?" The Third Lieutenant, Izbelliea Davionne asked, making a show of herself as she looked around wildly for the one Chaos was talking about. The Lieutenant standing next to her, the Fifth, named Jardonius Fulbeischter, snickered.

"His name is Zavier Nadir." Chaos told them. Zavier was still plastered to his side like a wet sheet of paper on a extremely windy day, and Chaos finally managed to pry him off. The fourteen-year-old boy shied back from the stares that were instantly directed at him, so Chaos held up a hand. "Children, what did I say?" He raised an eyebrow.

They tried to keep their stares away.

Zavier reached out to grasp Chaos's cloak again, and the Creator sighed. "Anyway, I'm going to leave him here for about an hour or so," Zavier's unseen eyes widened. "Xanxus," he told the First Lieutenant. "I want you to give him a tour of the base. Alright?"

The black haired teen nodded. Xanxus Spaede had the physical appearance of a sixteen year old, with soft black hair in small spikes. He had multiple scars running over his body, including his face, but you couldn't even see them unless you looked hard enough. His eyes were a crimson brown, and his hair was styled back in a slight tail, tied with a band that had a few feathers hooked on it. "Sure thing, Boss." Chaos grinned.

Zavier looked slightly panicked, so Xanxus did his best to soothe him as Chaos left. "Hey, kid. It's all cool." Zavier called upon his emotions and reigned them in, bringing up his blank mask once more. He looked curiously up at Xanxus, who was staring down at him with a smile. He made a gesture with his hand,, and one pointed look later, everyone else was trying their utmost best to get back to whatever they were doing before. Xanxus held out a hand t him. Zavier examined it with puzzlement, tilting his head. Xanxus withdrew it with a blush. "Heheh, sorry. You probably don't know what that's for. C'mon, lemme show you around." He headed out of the room, Zavier following at a slowed pace.

Three weeks later, Xanxus was officially Zavier's overprotective big brother. No one knows how this came about, it just happened. Zavier gained a best friend in the Fifth, Jardonius, and the Seventh Lieutenant, a three thousand year old boy from the subterranean planet Evras, who had the physical appearance of a seventeen-year-old, named Draek Fin'hata. The Sixth, a pretty girl with dark red hair and blue-tinted skin from the planet shrouded in the night, Nocht, went by the name Nixt Tallabi, and harbored an intense crush on Zavier, along with a small, yet growing, group of soldiers—which contained privates, sergeants, and generals from all planets.

The Eight Lieutenant, a Texan with the physical age of a eighteen year old named Dustin Johnson, was an extremely friendly guy who spoke in the slightly slow, accented drawl of a western cowboy, though he'd been in _Vincitore Annullare _for over thirteen centuries now.

Jasminta Darshal, a copper skinned, purple eyed, white-haired native of the planet called Zirch, which was covered in glowing vegetation and animal life, was the Fourth Lieutenant. She has a dark personality, and loved humor just as shadowed, though she had a soft spot for fluffy animals and things with glowing attributes. She was a part of Zavier's growing fan club due to his eyes, which she'd seen glowing through the shadows of his hood.

The Ninth Lieutenant was a twenty-year-old(looking) Italian boy from the planet Italius, which had been created when Chaos had fallen in love with the country of Italy in his pride and joy, planet Earth. The Ninth's name was Giotto Dino.

Vultri Bermu was the Tenth Lieutenant. He was a cute little thingl with bright blue hair, colorless eyes, and black skin, along with bleach white shark teeth. He came from the planet Vindxu, which half covered in lava and molten volcanic activity, and half flooded with oceans, the only land being small island continents on both sides.

The Eleventh was a white haired, extremely pale skinned boy named Caiden Eleven. He had been disowned by his family, so he had no last name, instead taking up his position for it. He had a case of amnesia that Chaos thought best not to cure, so they didn't know which planet he hailed from. He had bright blue eyes, almost as bright as Zavier's own, though they were normal and only twinkled slightly with Caiden's kindness and genuine care for everything around him. Caiden and Zavier had a close relationship for only three weeks, and Draek and Jardonius, commonly called Jardon, were always complaining how he would replace them.

Zavier was slightly more comfortable with interacting with the other's now, though he still tended to gravitate toward Chaos's side whenever his master was near. He still shied away from any touching, however, and Chaos decided, after a months or two or no touching, that there might be something wrong.

So he decided to do an experiment. He took Zavier, Caiden, and Draek to a empty room in the palace, and had Zavier take off one of his gloves. The young immortal did so cautiously, watching them all with furrowed brows—not that they could see of course. Then, Chaos had Caiden grasp Zavier's arm lightly.

Zavier whimpered at the touch, wanting to draw away from it. Caiden frowned in concern and pulled his hand back. Chaos then examined Zavier's skin closely. It was slightly red in the area Caiden had touched.

Caiden's eyes widened. "D-Did I do that? I'm so sorry, Zavier, I didn't—!"

"Hush." Chaos told him, and the fifteen-year-old-looking boy shut up, staring at his new friend worriedly. Chaos then instructed Draek to touch Zavier's arm, and the older boy did so with fear in his golden-tinted eyes. About five seconds after his hand made contact, Zavier let out a a pain-filled yell and jerked back from them. Draek jumped backwards with wide eyes, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Wh-what did I—"

"Hush," Chaos said sternly, and the teen did. They watched as Chaos ran his cool fingers over the burn marks in the shape of Draek's hand that now covered Zavier's hand. Blue light shone, and the injuries were gone, though Zavier still dove for his glove, slid it back on, and cradled his arm to his chest, staring at them in slight fear.

"Why did I hurt Zai more than Caiden did?" Draek asked him once Chaos motioned for the teen to continue, using their nickname for Zavier.

"It seems that Zavier trusts Caiden slightly more than you, Draek. Sorry."

Draek turned slightly hurt eyes toward Zavier, who bowed his head. "G-Gomen." Zavier told him in Japanese, apologizing. Draek shook his head. "No, no, it's okay. I mean, we just met two months ago, so I know it's gonna be hard adjusting is all." he gave the younger boy a smile. "And, well, Caid's just easier to trust, I get it. But what I wanna know is why we hurt you in the first place." The three teens looked over at Chaos.

The Creator sat down in a nearby chair. "It seems that Zavier has a condition that only affects the rare young immortal, and is incurable." Caiden and Draek's eyes widened even more, slight horror shining in their eyes. "It is called _Shinrai Shinai_, ironically Japanese. It's when the distrust that one hold for everyone and everything is transitioned into a physical connection. When Zavier makes skin contact with someone he doesn't trust wholeheartedly, he will be burned. I suppose this is my fault," here, the Creator lowered his head, silky black locks shadowing his eyes. "I should have raised Zavier in an environment with more people instead of locking him away. Maybe then he wouldn't have trust issues."

"_Kodoku_..." Zavier whispered, and they all turned to him in concern.

"Are you alright, Zai?" Caiden asked worriedly.

"What did you say?" Draek asked, then he turned to Chaos. "What did he say?"

Chaos sighed. He supposed that word would spread, and now all the relations Zavier had made within the army would be even more protective of him than they were already showing signs of being. Then he looked over at Zavier. "_Kodoku—_Japanese for "loneliness." Zavier, what do you mean?"

Zavier blushed slightly at Chaos's attention, though he was used to it, he still felt better when his master paid mind to him. "Th-the alone-ness feeling. I don't think it's your fault, Master. The loneliness has always been there, I think it passed over to me from the somebody I was before I was me." Caiden and Draek tilted their heads in unison.

Chaos's face smoothed out in understanding. "Ah. Right." He turned towards the other "Gather up the Council together, and I'll tell you all Zavier's story. Zavier cannot hear, however." Zavier nodded.

"Hai. Hearing my past life will hurt me and also the somebody I used to be, Master says. I don't want more bad dreams." He looked at Chaos, and the Creator nodded. "Yes, go to your room," he smiled wryly. Zavier titled his head forward in acknowledgment, before disappearing from existence, into the Void, and reappearing in his room.

He tightened his cloak around himself like a blanket and collapsed onto his bed, curling in on himself. Ever since Chaos had introduced him to the army, and the Council, he'd lost that safe, warm feeling he'd always had, aside from the loneliness. After every day, he ended up in his room in the nights, curled up into a small ball, trying to feel warm again.

Because, really, it was so, so cold.

_**Alright. I only have one thing to say... O_O I found a fish bone in my tuna. Wtf? That's never happened before...**_

_**Oh, and, REVIEW!~ Please? ^ ^**_

_**~Scylar X.**_


	3. Chapter Two

_It was still so cold._

The name Percy Jackson, or any variations of it, was unofficially taboo on _Vincitore Annullare_. Everyone but Zavier knew his story, and what had happened to him—and everyone, including Zavier, knew why Zavier was forbidden from finding out who, what, when, where, and how.

The fact that Zavier had _Shinrai Shinai _was kept to only himself, Draek, Caiden and Chaos—not intentionally, they just neglected to tell anyone else. Zavier had always been one to cover up a lot anyways, so the fact that he wore even more clothing and the only skin anyone could even see was the space slightly above his nose—sometimes not even that. The white turtleneck had become a slight silvery, skin-tight, long sleeved shirt that had a mask that went over the bottom half of his face. The shadows of the hood tended to conceal the rest.

A few weeks afterward, "The Incident" happened, and everyone found out about it in one of the most horrible ways imaginable, but no one liked to talk about that at all. It put Zavier a few centuries back in his trust issues, and he'd stopped speaking as much—they all relied heavily on their Japanese lessons now, since that was Zavier's primary language.

Xanxus was unbelievably overprotective of Zavier, now—everyone was, actually. Even though he was now their Commander. It was seven centuries since they'd met him, and he'd grown on them all. Zavier spent a lot of his time gathering new soldiers, making sure they would be unfathomably loyal to Chaos—but everyone except for Zavier himself knew that any soldier he'd gathered(his words, really. He "gathered" them, yes, but to everyone else, he had saved each and every one of them from a terrible fate) would betray Chaos in an instant for him. Chaos knew this as well. And he was absolutely fine with how things were going, even if the army wasn't loyal to him, but Zavier.

Though, even after all this time, no one besides Chaos really knew anything about Zavier. Sure, they knew about who he'd been before Zavier existed. They knew about _him._ They knew about _that hero_. But they didn't know _Zavier_. Zavier was always so withdrawn, he always kept to himself, was wary of even those who proved time and time again to be his loyal friends.

Zavier didn't trust in the loyalty.

"Hey, Zai, whatcha doing?" Draek asked, slinging an arm over the shorter teen's shoulder. Though Zavier was wearing clothes to protect him, Draek wouldn't have burned him even if he wasn't. The only people on the list of those who wouldn't burn Zavier when in direct skin contact were Caiden, Xanxus, Draek, Chaos of course, the Second, who was fairly new, named Thalia Grace, and one of the newer additions to the ranks, a soldier who had gone by the name of Luke Castellian. He was now called Yandon Hearth, Vapor being his code name.

Code names were a must for the Soldiers of Chaos. Zavier's code name was Commander, Caiden's was Eleven, Draek's was Repteal, Xanxus was Scar. Jardonius was Indae. The rest of the Lieutenants' names went like this:

Thalia—she now went by the name Thal Gwwaemar—was called Thyme.

Izabelliae was called Avian.

Jasminta's code name was Flambe.

Nixt was called Nightcrow.

Dustin was Tech.

Giotto's code name was Decimo, and Vultri was called Le'Ire—or just "Ire," for short.

Zavier turned around and titled his head to the side slightly. "I am... waiting for Thyme and Tech to finish decoding the encrypted message one of our allies sent our way."

"Right, then, Commander, sir." Draek sent Zavier a wink, before peering over his shoulder at the large screen, curiously. "That's the whole... um, bar-code...base...thingie, right?" Zavier gave a small, almost amused smile.

Jardonius, who stood a few feet away at another counsel, snorted. "Uh-huh. And this," He wiggled a joy-stick that was grasped in his hand, "is called a _lever._ That." He pointed to a dashboard before him riddled with buttons and flashing bulbs of various kinds. "Is a control platform."

Draek hit him over the head and the blond boy snickered. "Yeah, yeah, I know! I'm not _that_ stupid!"

"But you didn't deny it," Xanxus, who stood on the opposite side of Zavier and was watching the area of the Void their ship was stationed at through a large window that took up a whole entire wall, retaliated. The Corrptior native sent a smirk in the Evrasite's direction, and Draek stuck out his tongue.

"It is here." Zavier told them, as a message popped up on the screen in front of them, and the three directed their attention to the wording that Thalia and Dustin had translated. Draek crossed his arms and leaned against a small pillar that steadied the ceiling.

Zavier looked over his shoulder, casting the Evrasite a look. "Do you not have a station to man?"

Draek blushed, and scratched the back of his head as Zavier turned back to the message. Xanxus and Jardonius both sent him triumphant looks. He rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, my 'pologies. Ttyl, all." He jumped up and dashed out of the room. The soldiers who sat at the other counsels looked amused at their leaders' antics.

"That guy..." Xanxus shook his head.

"You used to be like that, too, ya know." Jardonius teased him.

Xanxus looked absolutely appalled. "What?! I so did not!" He threw out an arm and captured Zavier in a side hug, bringing him to his side. Zavier didn't even bat an eyelash, he only continued to type on the holo-keyboard before him, though he was forced to stretch out his arms to reach it now. "I'd never be so immature! I have to be a good role-model for Zaiver, right Otouto?" He looked down.

Zavier blinked, and looked up at him. "... I suppose." Then he turned back to his work. Xanxus began to tear up. "S-Suppose?" He mumbles. "Why does he _suppose_? I am too mature!"

Jardon rolled his eyes. "Mh-hm. Sometimes I feel sorry for Zai. Poor Zai, everyone gives him their utmost attention no matter what. Must get annoying sometimes."

Zavier paused in his typing, and looked up as if a sudden thought had struck him, before continuing in pending a response to the message.

Finally, Zavier decided that his response was adequate, and sent it, before turning to the others in the room. He blinked his glowing blue eyes that just _caught_ your attention, and you never managed to get it back. They were so deep, mysterious, filled to the brim with mystery that you _couldn't look away_. This was one of the main reasons that Zavier kept his eyes in the shadows of his hood, among others. "Planet Xompt is in need of assistance." He told them, simply, then strode out of the room. Jardon blinked and watched as Xanxus scurried after the smaller and stronger immortal. Once the two were gone, the Lieutenant sent a grin at the soldiers working in the room. "You know, that guy used to be the almighty First Lieutenant, but now he's reduced to an _loyal_ puppy due to the Commander's aura of adorable." Several of the soldiers looked to be trying their best to hold in snickers. He understood. They were slightly new to the positions, fresh out of training, and didn't want to be caught talking bad about their superiors. He sent them a wink anyway. "Don't you agree?"

"_**Jardonius**_!" Xanxus's voice sounded over the intercom. "_I can __**hear**__ you!_"

Jardon's ear twitched when he heard a slight snicker escape from a nearby private, who was beginning to turn red from lack of oxygen. He put on a cheerful smile and looked up at the ceiling. "Oh? Xanxus, dear, is that you?" A choked cough from a female officer to his left. "Terribly sorry, hun, I wasn't aware you were up there! Of course, I really shouldn't be surprised—you're an angel, after all!"

He heard a thump, and turned around to see a male soldier kneeling on the ground. He was clutching his stomach and had a gloved hand pressed firmly over his mouth in and effort to smother his chuckling. The poor teen's face was beet red and his eyes were squeezed shut. Jardon grinned as he caught sight of some other soldiers going down to the floor as well. He got that—the floor was a safe haven where you could howl with unrequited hysterics and not have to worry about falling out of your chair and screwing up your work. He grinned roguishly. "Oi! Xanxus? Puppy-dog? Honey-bun!~"

Hm, that young-looking redhead seemed to be having trouble breathing...

Xanxus didn't sound happy at all. "_**JARDON**__!__D-Dammit!__** Shut the void up**__!_" Jardonius began to cackle, and that seemed to be it for the soldiers in the room. They rolled on the floor, trying to take in deep, much-needed gulps of air; but it was futile as the giggles just wouldn't stop coming. Jardon gave himself a pat on the back for succeeding in loosening up the newbies, before joining them.

"_Jardonius_." Zavier's voice sounded, then, and everyone quieted down just a little. The kid just had that effect on you. "_Please stop teasing Nii-san. I understand that it is fun sometimes—_" Here, everyone began to grin again as Xanxus's voice yelled out indignantly in the background. "_—But it would be much appreciated if you kept the younger soldiers on task... now is not the time._"

Jardon let out a breathless giggle, sitting up and reaching a hand over to the bright orange colored speaker-button. "U-understood, Commander! Though, I was just trying to get them to loosen up a bit. It's not good for them to be so void-damn tense, ya know?"

"_I see. Well?"_

Jardon could practically see Zavier raising an eyebrow—despite the fact no one but Chaos has seen even _that_ part of the small teen's face. He grinned. "It worked~"

"_Very good..." _The tone was _almost_ patronizing._ "Do not do it again._"

"Awwwww..." Jardon pouted at the ceiling as if his commander could see his puppy-dog eyes. They all heard Zavier let out a almost inaudible sigh.

"_... Not during patrol."_

"_Ha-HA_!" Jardon pumped his fist into the air, and the soldiers around him looked extremely amused. "So, like, during break and stuff?"

"_Hai." _You could literally _hear_ the shrug.

"Yessss..." Jardon rubbed his hands together with a cheeky smile.

Zavier sounded as amused as an emotionless, second-most-powerful-person-in-the-universe could as he ordered them all back to work. Jardon took one look at the newer soldiers, who appeared much more relaxed in the military-like environment, and smiled triumphantly. Mission accomplished.

Teasing Xanxus had only been a bonus.

…

Sometimes, Xanxus just liked to watch Zavier. Sure, he was the little guy's self-proclaimed older brother, but that small fact of no blood-relation didn't deter him from feeling a familial tie, somehow. Zavier moved so gracefully in everything he did, everything about him was just perfect—perhaps that was what being the second most powerful being in existence meant. Perfection? But he, at times, just felt sorry for his Commander. Everyone but Zavier knew who he'd used to be, and how he came to be what he was now. In fact, Xanxus remembered small snippets of the meeting, that day.

"_There's something about Zavier that I believe you all should know." Chaos began, ,when they were all together. They were slightly anxious—the last they'd seen of Zavier was when he'd disappeared with their Lord, and Draek and Caiden. The two aforementioned Lieutenants had returned with horrified and slightly dazed looks on their faces. The others wondered what had happened. Zavier hadn't come back._

"_What's wrong?" Xanxus shot up from his chair and looked around wildly, as if at the action, Zavier would suddenly pop out of a hiding place. "Is he okay?" Draek and Caiden looked up worriedly, but remained silent._

_Chaos sighed. "... I hope that is so..." This didn't do anything to relax them, so the Creator straightened up and looked around._

"_Sir..." Caiden tentatively began, and all eyes were on the snow-haired Lieutenant. He coughed and continued. "What did Zai mean, "the person he was before he was him?""_

_The others exchanged confused glanced. What?_

_But Chaos nodded. "That's right. Centuries ago, before I'd found him, Zavier was a demigod just like any of you." This surprised them. "Of course, you all know how tragic the life of a half-god can become—" Everyone nodded, some sad. "—But Zavier's past life's existence was slightly worse than the normal situation..." They looked at one another, alarmed._

_And so, Chaos began to explain to them the life of one Percy Jackson, and how, when he was very young, his mother had been stolen from him, by a peculiar demon—one Chaos felt slightly shamed to admit wasn't even supposed to be on the Planet of Earth. He went on to tell them how young Percy had grown up with the demon, and how he'd dealt with his life, and how, when he reached the age of twelve, he'd journeyed to Camp half-Blood and had received his first quest._

_The story was sad, and pitiful, and along the way, most of them had forgotten that this Percy was Zavier's past life—they'd been sucked into the story. Finally, Chaos told them the end._

"_This is where things took turn for the rather unfortunate." The Creator sighed, and the Lieutenants sat at the edge of their seats. "I'm sure many of you remember how you were recruited, and remember your lessons on the gods of Earth?" They nodded. "Do you remember what the River Lethe is for?"_

_They sat silent for a while, before a few of them put two and two together. Jasminta let out a gasp. "**No!** My Lord, he didn't...?" _

_Chaos let out another sigh and sat back. "I'm afraid so. I arrived too late to change his mind. My only hope was to make a deal with him." Everyone looked absolutely horrified._

"_That's terrible..." Dustin murmured._

"_That's where Zavier comes in." The Creator reminded them, and everyone sat up, before it dawned on them that the story they'd just heard—that had been shy little Zavier's past life. It was horrifying, especially to those now close to the young immortal. Draek, Jardonius, Xanxus, and Caiden were all slightly pale. "The deal I'd made with Percy, was to take charge of his new life. Percy wanted to disappear just like his mother had, mind you, so they wasn't really anything I could say to stop that—it was his choice after all. Still, Percy kept his kindness with him until the end, and agreed to my deal to ensure that whoever his soul next became would have a sound future and a better life than he'd had."_

"_Awww..." Izbelliea said softly. "Th-that's really sweet..." Nixt slung an arm over her friend's shoulder, blinking furiously._

_Giotto sat forward. "So that's the story?"_

_Chaos nodded. "Somewhat. After Percy Jackson's soul emerged from the River Lethe, I used my will to bring it to me, stopping it from going back to the land of the living."_

"_Sooo..." Jardonius began. "So, Zai's essentially... **dead**?" His voice wavered._

_Chaos paused, frowning. "...No. Percy Jackson is dead. Zai is a newborn soul, even now—In fact, I can safely say that Zai's soul is the youngest out of all the souls in Vincitore Annullare, baring most new recruits from the last five centuries."_

"_Wow." Xanxus breathed in. That meant Zai would be the baby of their group. All the more reason to protect him, viciously, from all harm to his person—and his innocence. The First clenched his hands into fists._

"_But..." Vultri began. Out of all the Lieutenants, Vultri was the most child-like. His past was what kept him from understanding most things other people with normal histories would pick up after a few years. Xanxus concluded Vultri's innocence to be second to Zavier's. "Creator Chaos, if this was what you needed to tell us, why do the Eleventh and the Seventh look so horrified?"_

_They turned to look at Draek and Caiden, who were sitting quietly in their seats. Many frowned as they realized Draek hadn't been speaking much since the meeting started—that was one thing that should have set off their alarm bells; Draek was **never** quiet._

_Chaos nodded. "And this is where I tell you about that. I told you that story only so you would have a small understanding about where this next thing came from, for Zavier..."_

_They exchanged concerned glances. What now?_

Chaos had gone on to tell them about Zavier's condition, and what the _Shinrai Shinai_ entailed for him—and the rest of them. That was when Zavier began to cover up almost completely.

And then, "The Incident" had happened. Xanxus shuddered slightly, clenching his fists. He'd _never_ let that happen again. Ever.

Zavier turned to him, and Xanxus cast off his thoughts with a small smile. He was glad that his otouto trusted him almost as much as the boy trusted Caiden now—last time Xanxus had accidentally initiated skin contact with Zavier, he'd barely been burned. "Ne, otouto. Was the reply sent to Xompt already?"

Zavier showed absolutely no signs of having known what the older immortal was thinking, and the First let out a small sigh of slight relief.

"Hai," The Commander nodded. "This ship is headed toward their location as we speak."

"Good." Xanxus leaned back against the wall of the room. "Then we're all set."

* * *

**T^T I have no idea how I'll survive when my school program takes their laptop back for the summer. I swear I'll die a horrible, painful, silent death of pure agony. Ah well, I suppose it can't be helped.**

**Please review and tell me what you thought!**


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